He's Perfect
by HP-Forever-XX
Summary: There's a new boy at Hogwarts. Lily Evans is in awe. James Potter is NOT impressed.


**He's Perfect**

"Lancelot 'Lance' Knightwood is a young wizard from America," Professor Dumbledore calmly explained, "and I wish for him to be as welcomed and respected as any new first-year would."

"He's clearly _not_ a first-year, though, is he?" James Potter unsubtly piped up at the Gryffindor table. "Just _look_ at him."

Although James had been talking to his friends, Dumbledore seemed to have heard. "Quite right, Mr Potter," he said in as cheery a voice as before, "young Mr Knightwood is seventeen, much the same as yourself. He will attend Hogwarts only for a year, as the result of his family moving from their home in America and settling here in Britain. He will take his NEWTs alongside our current seventh-years, and as it's rather a special case, I think we'll allow him to choose his own house."

A few people murmured at this comment, James Potter included. "You can't _choose_ your house," he hissed, though this time so Dumbledore couldn't here. "What a ridiculous suggestion; it's not like it would put the Sorting Hat out too much by sparing another _five_ seconds to—"

"Oh, do shut up, James," Remus Lupin sighed, growing impatient with the boy's aggravation. "Who really cares? He's only here for a year, and I'm sure Dumbledore knows what he's doing."

"Yes, but I'm Head Boy—I think I should have some say in this!"

"Why?"

Before James could reply to Remus' comment, Lily Evans had taken it upon herself to silence him. "James, please, Remus is right. Why does it even matter?"

Sirius Black, who had been busy trying to catch the eye of some blonde, suddenly turned to stare at his best friend with a smirk.

James looked irritated. "I'm just saying," he said to nobody in particular, "why should bloody, poncey _Lancelot_ get to choose his house when nobody else—"

"Shut _up_ ," a sixth-year Gryffindor girl hissed at James. "He's about to choose!"

Lily looked up at the girl in amusement. She'd been paying little attention to the entire Sorting Ceremony; she'd been too invested in writing a quick letter home. But detecting the hushed but noticeable fluster of girlish excitement that surrounded her, she was forced to drag her attention away.

Almost every girl in the Great Hall seemed to have been overcome with awe, murmuring excitedly, blushing uncontrollably, and generally acting, in Lily's opinion, a little foolish. She snorted to herself, bemused, and turned to see where their stolen glances were aimed. And suddenly everything made sense.

Lancelot 'Lance' Knightwood was the most beautiful boy she'd ever seen.

Their newest student had a toned, youthful face, with a perfectly sculpted jaw, and dimples that deepened as he offered the most charming of smiles. His hair, an indescribable colour somewhere between gold and bronze, sat in soft curls atop his head. Tanned skin, perfectly proportioned features, muscular arms, and eyes of the most piercing blue variety—if perfection was a boy then this was him, and _everybody_ knew it.

Lily was almost a little embarrassed by how weak her knees seemed to have gone. _Thank goodness she was sitting down already._ Charming and witty, Lily decided— in a classy way, of course, not like James and his idiotic Marauders—kind, intelligent, and oh-so beautiful.

"I, ah," Lance began nervously, surveying the hall full of eagerly-awaiting students. He had a voice as soft and sweet as melted chocolate. Manly, of course, but in a gentle, sensitive sort of way. Lily could almost feel the girls around her swooning.

"Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor," James was muttering angrily under his breath.

 _Please Gryffindor, please Gryffindor, please Gryffindor,_ Lily was internally begging.

Lance's eyes scanned the hall again, stopping only briefly to fall on Lily. The redhead almost gasped.

"I like the look of that one," he told Professor Dumbledore, nodding towards the table, or, more particularly, at Lily. The girls sat opposite Lily suddenly glared at her in accusation.

"Gryffindor?" Dumbledore asked kindly. "Good choice. Lancelot will join the Gryffindors for this year," he announced to the hall. He was met with squeals of delight from the Gryffindor girls, and gentle groans from the rest of the hall. "I'll leave it up to Mr Potter, our Head Boy, to ensure you settle in and are assigned a dorm room."

James swore under his breath.

"And now, let the feast begin!"

At Dumbledore's words, a glorious array of food suddenly appeared on the tables. Sirius dived in, a hungry glint in his eye, almost as hungry a glint as that of the ones in the Gryffindor girls' eyes as Lance Knightwood made his way over to where Lily and the Marauders were sat.

Lily subconsciously began fiddling with her hair.

"Hi," Lance said once he'd reached her, a shy but charming smile breaking out. _Oh, God, he was even more attractive up close._

"H—hi," Lily stuttered, as James threw Lance a dirty glare and Sirius obliviously continued diving into the feast. "Lily Evans," she said, trying her best to act confident and friendly. "I'm Head Girl."

"May I join you?"

" _Actually—_ "

"Yes, of course," Lily cut across James, hurriedly making space for the new boy.

Lance settled himself down between a still-blushing Lily and a still-glaring James. "Writing a letter?" he asked, nodding towards Lily's incomplete letter home.

Lily began gathering up her stuff, still in a state of fluster. _Who knew American accents were so sexy?_ "I—oh, yeah—I—it was to my parents."

"Ah." Lance smiled at her kindly. "You're close with your family?"

"Y—yes. Well, my parents at least. I mean, me and my sister," Lily mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "we're, ah, not so close anymore. Do you have any siblings?" she squeaked, struggling to maintain eye contact. Pools of blue; you could surely drown in eyes like that.

"I'm an only child," Lance said, emitting the calm casualness that Lily was currently struggling with. "I always longed for a sibling—somebody to grow up alongside with—but no, I've always been alone in that sense."

The girls sitting opposite emitted exaggerated sighs. Lance looked up at them amusedly, eyes twinkling.

"It's not _that_ difficult being an only child," James mumbled, glaring down at his plate and stabbing a piece of chicken a little more aggressively than was necessary.

"Ignore him," Sirius said, his mouth full of food. "He's on his period."

James looked like he was about to stab Sirius as those sat around him burst into gentle laughter, Lance included. Lily was the only one who didn't laugh; she felt embarrassed by James' unnecessary hostility.

"So, why did your family move from America?" Remus asked kindly, in a desperate attempt to cover up James' rudeness. Lily was grateful for his polite enquiry. Why was James being such an arse?

"They're British themselves, actually," Lance explained, seeming to find Remus' warmth reassuring. "They met at Hogwarts, got married almost immediately afterwards, moved to America, and had me shortly after. And now, I guess, they just wanted to come home."

"Why?" James demanded.

"Convenience," Lance replied cheerily, unfazed by James' hostility. He smiled at Lily. "Fate."

"Well, that's just _bloody_ —"

"So, your parents are British?" Lily cut across shrilly.

"Yeah—hence why they named me 'Lancelot.'"

 _Oh,_ Lily thought, _his dimples really were beautiful when he smiled._ "It's a beautiful name," she breathed. "Very noble and chivalrous—like Lancelot from the Arthurian Legend. Especially as your surname is 'Knightwood.'" _Knight in shining armour, indeed._

"I think it's pretentious," James mumbled. Everybody ignored him.

"And that's such a beautiful story about how they met," Lily continued to swoon.

"Hogwarts is a very magical, very romantic place, in my opinion," Lance said, looking meaningfully into Lily's eyes.

Lily herself was just glad that James was back to scowling at his plate and didn't notice the unmistakable wink Lance offered her. "I agree," she said breathlessly.

Sirius suddenly snorted, much to Lily's irritation. "Since _when_ , Evans? Prongs has been trying to woo you for six years and never once have you thought—"

"Shut _up_ , Sirius," Lily said through gritted teeth.

"Who's 'Prongs?'" Lance asked innocently.

"Nobody," Lily said, blushing. "It's just a stupid nickname for some stupid—"

"I'm going to bed," James announced, seething with anger. He pushed his unfinished plate away from him, making an awful grinding noise as it scraped across the wooden table, and stood up to depart.

"We haven't even had dessert!" Sirius exclaimed.

"James, you can't," Lily said. "You're Head Boy—you've got to show the first-years where the common room is, and—"

"I'm sure you, the Prefects, and _Lance_ can take it upon yourselves to do it without me," James said bitterly.

Lily began to protest as he walked away, but James ignored her. She couldn't even pay attention as Lance told those intently listening about how he intended to become a Healer after graduating, (he was all about helping those less fortunate than him, and what was more satisfying and humbling than being a Healer?); she just stared after James' retreating figure, a hollow feeling in her stomach.

* * *

Lance Knightwood was perfect; everybody in Hogwarts had come to the decision by the following morning, not even having known him for twenty-four hours. Full of charm, he was both physically and mentally beautiful. Never before had anybody met a boy of seventeen who was so kind, charismatic, funny, intelligent, and generally flawless. The girls were full of adoration, the boys full of respect. It was clear that everybody loved him.

All except one.

"What is his _deal?_ " James scoffed as he and Lily walked to breakfast together. Lance was in the corridor, surrounded by admirers both male and female. "Like, what is so great about him? Why is everybody so obsessed with him?"

"What's _not_ to like about him?" Lily retaliated drily. She was so sick of James' attitude towards Lance, even though it had only been short-lived so far. At that moment, even amongst the sea of people, Lance caught Lily's eyes and winked at her. "He's _perfect_ ," she sighed. "He's sweet, and kind, and physically, he's _gorgeous._ "

"Lily Evans," James said sulkily, "I did not have you down as one for being so shallow!"

"James Potter," Lily retorted sarcastically, "I did not have you down as one for being so _jealous._ Actually"—she paused for reconsideration—"yeah, I did."

"I'm not _jealous_ ," James replied indignantly, about as unconvincing as Sirius Black suggesting Snape was his best friend. "I just think, you know," he stuttered, raking a nervous hand through his already mussed-up hair, "there's more to a person than… how they look."

"You don't think I know that, James?"

"Well, I—"

"You honestly think I fancy him purely based on his looks?" Lily scoffed. "For your information, just because he _happens_ to be drop-dead gorgeous, it doesn't mean I'm not equally as attracted, if not more, to his personality and his—" Lily stopped short when she caught sight of James' face. It was not often she witnessed such a look of hurt and sorrow, so used was she to his cocky, arrogant smirk.

"You really fancy him?" James asked in a weak voice.

"I—what?"

"You said you fancy him," James gulped, drained of all his usual Gryffindor confidence.

Lily herself was blushing furiously, struggling to adapt to the sudden change in atmosphere. The former playful, teasing tone of the conversation had dramatically changed to that of solemnity and discomfort.

"So what if I do?" she mumbled, struggling to look him in the eye. "It's—it's none of your business.

"Ah," was all James said, still with that sad, hurt look written into his expression.

Lily was suddenly furious. How _dare_ James make her feel so guilty for fancying this new boy? What right did he have to instil those sorts of feelings within her? Just because _he_ had some hopeless, long-standing crush on her, it didn't mean _she_ , in any way, owed him anything! James Potter was not entitled to her, even if he was shallow enough to believe that he did!

"I can fancy who I want, James," Lily suddenly snapped, riling herself up. James looked only mildly alarmed. "I don't _owe_ you anything. And yes, I _do_ know that there's more to a person than looks, alright? Unlike the likes of _you_ and—and Sirius 'will snog anything in a skirt' Black—I actually care about personality. I _care_ about depth," she continued to yell at an unresponsive James, "and emotion, and honesty, and—and humility—and—" She paused only momentarily for breath. "The point is, I am offended that you think of me as so shallow. Trust me, if it came down to good looks but a toxic personality, I _would_ go for you."

She stormed away from him before he could even reply. Not that James would have, of course; he was still in a cold state of numbness from Lily's confession that she already fancied this new boy after less than twenty-four hours, and now even more so that she'd voiced, once again, her disgust for himself.

He took one glance at the retreating figure of the Gryffindor girl, red hair swinging from side to side as she stormed off, one glance at the temporary Gryffindor boy, surrounded by swooning girls, and then returned to the Gryffindor Tower feeling dazed.

* * *

"Evans," James greeted, much more cheerily than he had done in weeks.

Lily was too much in a state of daze to particularly notice his dramatic mood swing. She couldn't stop replaying the revelations of the previous night in her mind; she had barely slept.

"Lance not with you?" But there was no hostility there, just the same cheerfulness.

Lily flinched at the name. Bloody _Lance._ So full of charm and charisma, Lily was actually disgusted with herself when she thought of how easily she'd fallen. She'd been so blinded by his hollow charade, schmoozing his way into everybody's graces. She was outraged with her own blind, naïve idiocy—nobody was _that_ perfect. Looking back now, she was more than a little embarrassed.

For weeks Lily had been the envy of every girl in Hogwarts (even some of the professors!) as Lance made it blindingly clear to everybody around that she was the girl who'd captured his attention. And honestly, it had been beyond flattering.

Nobody had dared tried to flirt with her in about three years—not since James had made it clear to the entire school that he had a burning, bordering-on-obsessive, attraction to her. With nobody but James Potter harassing her, it had been endearing for someone so charming and romantic to pursue her.

He had been so dreamy… so perfect…

Lily's heart had fluttered with each new wink, each new playful conversation and subtle flirtation. There was something so satisfying about being the object of a guy's affection (who wasn't James), and the envy of every girl. Lance was endeared by Lily alone—that's what they'd all said. She'd never been so flattered.

That was, until, she'd found out about him snogging Marlene McKinnon in the broom cupboard…

And Hestia Jones.

And Marigold Jenkins.

And Mary Macdonald.

And Skylar Matthews.

And—well, the list went on.

"Turns out he's not a very deep person," Lily said meekly, "just a bit of an arse."

"Are you kidding me?" James demanded. Although, to Lily's surprise, it wasn't out of sympathy so much as it was genuine incredulousness. "He's awesome! He's so cool and—"

" _What?"_ Lily asked sharply.

"Lily," James said seriously, "he's perfect!"

"Are you _mocking_ me?"

James looked genuinely confused. "What—no? I'm telling you—I was chatting to him earlier at lunch, and he's actually so much cooler than I thought he was. Did you know he's into Quidditch? He was actually offered an intern-like position with one of the teams over in America, and he met the Holyhead Harpies _and_ the Chudley Cannons when they were over there, and he's got this really cool broom, which they don't even have in Britain yet, and he said he'd let me try it out one day and—"

Lily had stopped listening.

James noticed her attention had shifted. "I was wrong about him, Lily," he said apologetically. "I admit—I was a little jealous of him at first. But that's only because I saw the way you looked at him, and—"

"No, you were right, James," Lily interrupted. "Physically, he might be 'perfect,' but personality-based—"

"He's awesome!"

"No," she said shrilly, "he's not! He's arrogant, and vapid, and it's clear he's only got _one_ thing on his mind—he's no better than Sirius! Except, you know, lacking in that idiotic charm that he seems to have…"

"Well, _I_ like him."

"Well, why don't _you_ go and snog him in a cupboard then—take a number and wait, though; there's a long line."

"Are we talking about Sirius or Lance now?" James asked, confused.

"Why," Lily asked in amusement, "are you saying you _would_ snog one of them?"

"Well, not Sirius, that's for sure—he's got dog breath."

Lily just rolled her eyes. "I don't even want to know how you know that."

"Good," James said with a smile.

And what a smile it was, Lily suddenly thought. Regardless of his unruly hair and dark eyes (nothing like Lance Knightwood's pools of blue) there was a sort of dignified beauty about James Potter. Perhaps his dimples weren't so deep, and his muscles weren't so defined, but there was a playful warmth etched into his features that extended much deeper than the falsities that Lance tried to offer—more genuine.

Perhaps 'perfection' was not necessarily what she'd thought it had meant. Perhaps there was a difference between flawlessness and perfection. Her heart fluttered.

Yes, Lily thought to herself, breaking out into her own shy smile, she supposed, in his own way, James Potterwasrather perfect too.

* * *

 **Originally written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 3—Finals Round 2**

 **Team:** Holyhead Harpies  
 **Position:** Captain  
 **Task:** Put a twist on a chosen fanfiction cliché (Mary Sue/Gary Stu character)


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